He Faked Poverty. Then, a Drunken Night Erased Everything. The Shocking Madness of His Regret.

Caleb, the billionaire who’d pretended to be dirt poor for seven years, crashed his Maybach, killing my mom and my daughter. A month later, the man finally realized something was off.

He asked his assistant, “After I ran over those worthless deadbeats, the old woman and the kid, didn’t their family raise hell for compensation?”

Ms. Davies, his assistant, looked grim. She whispered, “Sir, you are the victims’ family.”

Caleb was completely baffled. “What do you mean?”

“That night, when you were drunk, you ran over the old lady and her granddaughter. Your wife tried to stop you, demanding an explanation, but you were so inebriated you didn’t recognize her. You kicked her aside and drove off.”

Before she finished, Caleb jolted, his face turning ashen.

It all came rushing back to him: how he’d faked bankruptcy and a severe illness, how our family had worked day and night, pouring every penny into supposedly paying off his billion-dollar debt.

To buy his life-saving medicine, my mother and daughter had worked themselves to the bone.

But during a shift in the rich district, he, in his luxury car, had slammed into them. Their bodies were mangled, their lives extinguished instantly.

I cremated Mom and Chloe’s remains in a daze. Afterward, I got a call from my husband’s assistant. His tone was as cold as a debt collector’s:

“How much do you want? Name your price!”